


so much history in these streets

by deepbutdazzlingdarkness



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Anal Sex, Dirty Talk, Exhibitionism, Infidelity, M/M, Minor Eric Bittle/Jack Zimmermann, Walking In On Someone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-13
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2019-03-04 09:24:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13361586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deepbutdazzlingdarkness/pseuds/deepbutdazzlingdarkness
Summary: Kent’s not an idiot, he knows Jack has a boyfriend; their coming out was kind of fucking hard to miss.OR as I’ve been calling it all along, the “Bitty walks in on Jack and Kent fucking” fic





	so much history in these streets

**Author's Note:**

> This is…basically pure Jack/Kent id-fic, so of course it’s the first thing I’ve posted in this fandom haha. To quote Ngozi from one of my favorite [bits](https://www.instagram.com/p/9MFSY3E_hp/) of pseudo-canon, “Bitty hates Parse. Parse basically doesn't care that Bitty exists,” and as such that’s very much the attitude this fic takes in regards to Bitty so just, keep that in mind if you decide to read.
> 
> Thanks to @asoftepilogue and @chartreusers for looking this over for me, and of course all the Check Please nonnies on ffa_anon for inspiring/enabling this idea in the first place! :D
> 
> Title is from suburbia by Troye Sivan

“Fuck yeah, more,” Jack moans, tossing his head back as Kent pushes into him slowly, sloppy with lube and spit. They haven't slept together in a few months (the Falcs’ trip to Vegas conveniently falling right before Thanksgiving this season, letting Jack stay a extra day before he had to meet up with the rest of his team in Arizona) and this thing is new enough that he’s not used to how _responsive_ Jack is now. 

Back in juniors it was never like this. In those days, it didn't seem like Jack was ever truly able to relax and enjoy himself during sex. Their hookups tended to be of the quick and dirty variety: in the backseat of the car or the bathroom at a party, and even one time on the bus, cuddled up under a blanket together after a blowout win in which Kent scored two goals and assisted on Jack’s hatty and they just couldn't wait.

For the most part, Kent was used to their sex life focusing more on quantity than quality. Even when they had a rare opportunity to take their time back then, Jack always got squirrelly about it, too worried about hockey and billet parents and the draft and what if people found out, and and and. He would bite his lip until it was bloody to keep from making noise and blushed at even Kent’s _tamest_ attempts at dirty talk. (And it’s not like Kent was some kind of expert, he just spouted whatever bullshit came to his mind to rile Jack up.) A nice orgasm or two usually settled Jack’s brain down for a bit, but that never lasted never long. 

This new Jack, confident when it comes to sex and comfortable asking for what he wants is so different to deal with, especially when apparently what Jack wants is _Kent_ , which he still can't believe. Kent has no idea what’s changed for him, if managing his anxiety better has helped Jack loosen up when it comes to sex, or maybe the illicitness and sneaking around makes it extra hot for him like it does Kent? All Kent knows is that if someone had told him two years ago that Jack Zimmermann would ever want on his dick again, he...well, Kent doesn’t know _what_ he would’ve done, but he certainly wouldn’t have believed them, that’s for sure.

In any case, even when they’re pressed for time (which, given that they have to juggle two different NHL schedules, is pretty much always these days), Kent can’t resist taking advantage of Jack’s newfound wantonness. Once he bottoms out, chest to chest with Jack, Kent starts to move his hips, spreading Jack out and fucking him slowly. Jack pulls Kent towards him, smiling as he eagerly licks into Kent’s mouth, greedy with it.

They make out until they have to pause for air and then Kent starts mouthing along Jack’s jawline, grazing the curve of his neck with his teeth. Much as he wishes he could leave a mark, Kent knows better than to go there, but he can feel Jack’s cock pulse between their bodies and smirks into his collarbone. Kent lifts himself up a bit to get access to Jack’s chest, combing his fingers through the thatch of hair there but deliberately avoiding his nipples.

“C’mon Kenny, touch me,” Jack whines, grinding his cock into Kent’s abdomen.

As soon as Kent hears his old nickname come out of Jack’s mouth, his heart skips a beat. It shouldn't feel this momentous, Jack calling him “Kenny.” It’s not even the first time it’s happened since they’ve reconnected (although it's still rare enough that Kent can count the number of occasions on one hand) but it definitely hasn't happened during sex before.

Despite the shock, Kent recovers quickly. “But I already am,” he says nonchalantly, finally circling one of Jack's nipples with his thumb and teasing it into hardness.

Jack narrows his eyes at Kent and it’s such a throwback to the old Jack, so easy to work up, that Kent can practically feel the pang of nostalgia hit him straight in the chest.

“God, Zimms, I…”

“What?”

Kent shakes his head and kisses Jack instead before he does something disastrous like say “I love you.” Though true of course, it’s something he’s managed to avoid saying all these years. Even at his most desperate, Kent’s always managed to stick with “I miss you,” and now of all times is not a moment where he needs to slip and get caught up in daydreams about how he wishes they could be. This is about sex, nothing else.

And since that’s the case, he might as well embrace it. “Turn over babe, I wanna get deeper,” Kent says, slapping Jack’s thigh as he pulls out.

“Hey, I thought you were gonna touch me?” Jack protests even as he gives in, settling onto his stomach and giving Kent a hell of a view. 

“Fuck, I love your ass,” Kent breathes, smirking as Jack squirms at the praise, unconsciously arching his back and showing off his _assets_ even better. “The NHL has been good to you in quite a few ways, huh?”

“Shut up,” Jack grumbles, crossing his arms in front of his face.

“I mean seriously, dude, this thing puts Crosby’s to shame,” Kent continues, groping at Jack’s ass and rubbing his cock up against it.

“Stop fucking around and just _fuck_ me already, Parse,” Jack snaps, turning around to glare at Kent and well. It’s not exactly begging, but it’s close enough that Kent is powerless to resist. 

“Well, if you insist,” Kent grins, holding his cock steady as he slides all the way in with one deep thrust.

Kent rolls his hips, coaxing a moan out of Jack and is just about to start up a steady rhythm when he hears “honey, you in there?” in a faintly familiar Southern drawl. He doesn’t have time to do anything but think “oh shit,” before he looks up and sees one Eric Bittle standing in the doorway, his mouth hanging open. 

Kent’s not an idiot, he knows Jack has a boyfriend; their coming out was kind of fucking hard to miss. He spent all summer pissed at the precarious position it put him in (the glass closet is one thing, but Kent has no desire to be out publicly, thank you very much) until he and Jack fucked it out at BioSteel, drunk off vodka and the thrill of playing together again, even if it was just a meaningless tournament. But Jack’s never mentioned Bittle once, except indirectly when he let Kent know he’d be alone this weekend (or well, that he was _supposed_ to be) and Kent sure as fuck wasn’t gonna be the one to bring him up. 

While Bittle just stares in shock, Jack has his head turned away so somehow Kent is the only one who notices he’s there. He pauses mid-thrust, trying to take a moment to assess the situation, but Jack immediately protests, whining, "Kenny, why'd you stop?" 

“I—” Kent’s not sure how to respond, but when he looks back up, Bittle’s...gone? And Jack's door is closed like he was never there. Well, he rationalizes to himself, if Bittle’s not planning on forcing them to stop, Kent certainly isn’t gonna be the one to do it.

Kent pauses for a moment after he slips back into Jack so easily, tucking a strand of Jack’s hair behind his ears and taking in the blissful expression on his face. “God, you love my cock, don't you, Zimms?” he says, trying not to sound too awestruck.

“Yeah,” Jack exhales, pushing his hips back, trying to get Kent to move. Eventually he relents, lazy thrusts that fill Jack up but don't always reach his prostate—Kent doesn’t want this ending _too_ quickly.

“And you need it, don’t you,” Kent keeps running his mouth, holding Jack in place so he can’t squirm. “I’m the only one who knows how much you need this, the only one you let fuck you, right?” It’s a rhetorical question, Jack already admitted as much to Kent the first time they fucked again, but he loves making Jack say it. It's vain but hey, Kent’s never claimed to be a selfless person and it satisfies him to know that even if this is all he gets of Jack, he’s also only one who does. And since it’s very possible this’ll be the last time they do this, he’s gonna savor the experience of having Jack fucking Zimmermann gagging for it at least once more.

“Yeah, only you Kenny,” Jack mumbles, moaning and clutching at the sheets as Kent hits his prostate with a particularly accurate thrust.

“Good,” Kent smiles at the validation, leaning down to kiss Jack as he begins to move in earnest. 

Jack's making all these little choking gasps as Kent fucks into him, but he knows Jack is capable of more than that and Kent’s feeling particularly petty today. He doesn't knows if Jack’s boyfriend decided to stick around or not—Kent didn't hear the apartment door close, but then again he wasn't exactly paying attention. If he did decide to stay, then oh well, guess Bittle’s gonna be getting a show. To quote Kent’s favorite self-destructive motto, if they’re gonna go down, it might as well be in flames.

Kent toys with Jack’s hole, stroking the sensitive skin where he's stretched around Kent’s cock and Jack shivers, trying to shy away from his touch. “C'mon Zimms,” Kent murmurs, nudging Jack further up onto his hands and knees, “Hold yourself up for me.”

Jack’s long-neglected cock is bobbing underneath them, dripping precome all over the sheets, so slick when Kent finally touches him that he doesn't even need extra lube. 

“Finally,” Jack moans as Kent grips him tightly, jerking him off in hard, fast strokes, just the way Jack likes it.

“Yeah baby, I wanna hear you,” Kent grins, thumbing over the head of Jack’s cock as he focuses on hitting his prostate with every thrust now.

Kent can feel Jack getting closer, his arms shaking from the strain, and at no time at all Jack’s warning him, “Kenny, _crisse_ , I'm gonna—” before coming with a groan, clenching around Kent’s cock and getting the sheets even messier than they already were.

Jack leans forward onto his elbows, tilting his ass up as Kent readjusts and fucks him through it, moaning loudly now as Kent digs his fingers into Jack's hips hard enough that they'll hopefully leave bruises. Bite marks may be a no-go, but bruises can be covered up more easily and also explained away by hockey.

Kent’s almost there too, and it only takes a few more thrusts, bouncing Jack on his dick before he comes himself, panting Jack's name into his ear. He stays there for a moment, catching his breath, before carefully pulling out. He rolls over, tying off and throwing away the condom they used before collapsing next to Jack.

“Fuck, when did you get so good at that?” Jack asks, scooting over to lay his head on Kent’s chest.

“A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell,” Kent says primly, and Jack immediately snorts. 

“You, a gentleman?”

“Yeah okay, maybe not.” Kent laughs and Jack joins in and for a moment it feels like old times. _Real_ old times, back when they were actually friends and their relationship consisted of more than just fucking behind Jack’s boyfriend’s back whenever they get the chance. 

Once that moment passes, Kent remembers what just happened and how their affair isn't actually behind Bittle’s back anymore and decides that he probably should get out of there ASAP, so he reluctantly extricates himself from Jack's arms.

“You’re not gonna stay?” Jack asks, yawning as he watches Kent clean up and get dressed. That's another thing that's different about Jack now: he was _never_ this clingy back then, it was always Kent who had to try and hold back those tendencies in himself to keep Jack from freaking out. Now? Kent has no idea what’s going through Jack's head but he doesn't have time to think about it.

“I...” Kent tries not to grimace but he’s not sure how well he succeeds. It kills him to say no, but he needs to make himself scarce before Bittle decides he's waited long enough and comes bursting in again. “Nah, I don’t think that’s a good idea, I gotta get back to the hotel. I need my beauty sleep so I can help the Aces kick your ass tonight.”

“Oh right, just like last time, huh?” Jack chirps, which, fair enough. A 5-1 blowout loss with 5 unanswered goals is certainly an ass-kicking...it’s just that the Aces were the ones getting it handed to them.

Kent can’t exactly complain though, based on past experience losing isn’t exactly a turn on for Jack—in fact it tends to turn him into a bitchy asshole. So if Jack winning means he’s more dtf...well Kent’s just glad the Aces and Falconers only play twice a year. 

Of course that’s probably not even gonna matter anymore now that Jack’s boyfriend knows, but Kent’ll cross that bridge when he gets to it. He finishes buttoning up his flannel and rakes fingers through his hair, trying to flatten that annoying cowlick down before putting his hat on and leaning down to kiss Jack goodbye.

“Bye, Kenny,” Jack says with a smile, yawning again as he pulls the covers over him, settling in to sleep.

Meanwhile, Kent takes a breath, steeling himself for what he suspects is coming. Sure enough, as soon as he exits Jack’s room, gently closing the door behind him, Bittle jumps up off the couch and marches towards him, clearly seething with rage.

He expects to get yelled at, but it turns out Bittle’s is more of a quiet anger. “What the fuck is wrong with you, who d’you think you are?” he hisses, poking his finger into Kent’s chest. Kent looks down and shrugs off Bittle easily, grabbing his coat off the couch. 

“I think you know who I am? Given that your boyfriend was just screaming my name,” Kent retorts, plastering on his signature smirk, adjusting his snapback and heading straight for the door. _He's_ not the one with the boyfriend, Kent doesn't have to stay and get a lecture from the poor man’s version of himself, and anyway his pre-game nap waits for no one. Kent throws, “See ya, Bittle” over his shoulder, tuning out any further response as he gets the fuck out of there.

**Author's Note:**

> There…may be more? I have their backstory from BioSteel worked out as well as a vague idea of where the story might go from here, so I could branch out in either direction. We’ll see!
> 
> I always love and appreciate kudos and comments, and feel free to follow me on [tumblr](http://deepbutdazzlingdarkness.tumblr.com/) and/or [twitter](https://twitter.com/onlyoneloislane/) (where I’m much more active these days!!)


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